


On the Subject of Duality

by FanfictionalRatt



Series: Still Human [2]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Family, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Psychological Drama, Psychological Trauma, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Team as Family, Trust, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24617476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanfictionalRatt/pseuds/FanfictionalRatt
Summary: A direct sequel to my 5 year old fluffy oneshot, "Staying with the Medic". Picking up right after the incident in the last story, the BLU Scout finds himself navigating through an unexpected period of ceasefire. In a world where reality isn't as direct or as obvious as the RED and BLU that surround them - Scout struggles to control his spiraling emotions and unwanted thoughts towards the arbitrary concept of home, trust, family - and love. Through what is expected to be a quiet, uneventful ceasefire, the Scout has to go to war with the one thing he had been running away from for his entire life - himself.
Relationships: Medic/Scout (Team Fortress 2)
Series: Still Human [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1779805
Comments: 21
Kudos: 87





	1. Heavy Rain

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read the oneshot this story is based after - I suggest you go do that first. Otherwise nothing's gonna make sense from the get-go.
> 
> AN: 5 years ago I wrote my first romance fic. I was 18 then - and at the time I had not even had my first relationship, much less experienced what it felt like to be in love. Now that I have grown up a bit - I decided to revisit it. As a homage to the idealized version of love (and reality in general) that I harbored as a teen; here's my love letter to you - with a metaphorical punch to your fucking face.

“Are you freakin’ kidding me?!” Scout gestured wildly, a dramatic show of exasperation on his features. “I dunno what to say, boy.” Engineer shrugged in response, his voice flat. “I would think y’alls housing concern is _just_ a bit more important than your need for exercise.”

It had been approximately a week since the incident with the RED Demo - just a few days into the ceasefire - and Scout was getting bored. Through the second-floor window of the base, he could see, and hear, the downpour of heavy rainfall.

It was rare for the area to have such bad weather - even rarer that a heavy storm like this had persisted for so long. For the last 3 days, it had been pouring in the badlands.

Scout groaned loudly. He didn’t usually think about, or even believe in religion - but right now he sincerely felt like the man upstairs was out to get him. Especially during the past week.

It all started with a dispute he had no say in - his room suffered blast damage from multiple sticky bombs during a fight, just because his room was beside Soldier’s. In one evening, Scout lost his room, several of his prized belongings, and now it was raining so hard that he couldn’t even go outside for a run. Without being able to vent his frustrations or spend his energy through exercise, Scout was getting agitated. This was just not fair.

“Well boy,” Engineer folded his arms. “Mulling over this ain’t gonna help. I say you go find yourself something to do - cause we ain’t fighting ‘till we get this building fixed. Now get.” He motioned lazily towards the door. “I ain’t here to babysit ya, I already _got_ another big baby on my hands.”

Huffing briefly, Scout begrudgingly turned to the door. Engineer wasn’t in the best of moods himself - especially since he had begun housing the estranged Soldier in his own quarters.

Shuffling down the hallway with his hands buried deep into his pant pockets, Scout contemplated on what he should do next. He had already gone to (and had been subsequently kicked out of) most of his teammates quarters, after talking their ear off for (what felt like) barely a minute. He supposed he could find a couch to sleep on - but he was _definitely_ not tired enough to take a nap. His daily diet of 12 over-caffeinated Bonk cans did not help his case in the slightest.

There was just _nothing_ interesting he could spend his time on. He had already read and re-read all the magazines, comic books, and even newspaper comic-strip sections he could get his hands on. Supply deliveries were running late in general due to the heavy storm, and he had exhausted all his current forms of entertainment. Life in detainment was _so_ boring - he had even considered picking up one of Medic’s fancy doctor books. Not like he would understand a word that was written there - he was more in it for the pictures of body parts and stuff.

Briefly, his trailing feet stopped in their tracks. In quiet emergencies like these - he might even have to resolve to spend time by _thinking._

He shuddered. Grimacing as he noticed his own lack of movement, he picked up his pace as he marched aimlessly across the hall.

Thinking wasn’t his strong suit. Sure, he knew he was _clever, handsome,_ and quick on his feet when it came to it - but _spending_ time to think? Actually taking the time outta your day to reflect on memories and emotions? Even the idea of that never sat right with him.

He was a _strong_ guy. And strong guys don’t mull over _weak_ things like emotions… right?

 _Yeah._ He nodded, to nobody in particular. _Right._

“Aye! Scout!”

Scout looked up from the ground, immediately snapping out of his own thoughts.

Down the hall, one of the dorm doors had been swung open, revealing the Demoman looking at Scout from within the room he was in. His hand up in greeting, Demo eyed Scout with a chipper, yet somehow concerned expression. “You okay there lad?” He asked, training an attentive eye on the young man.

“Uh - yeah. I mean,” Scout grinned sheepishly as he averted Demo’s direct gaze. “Pshh, yeah, there ain’t nothin’ wrong with me. Definitely ain’t doin’ any thinkin’, if that’s what you’re thinkin’. Cause I definitely didn’t think. Uh, in fact, I can’t think.” He could feel a panicked fluster creeping across his face as the words tumbled out of his mouth faster than Sascha’s bullets. “I am literally incapable of thought. So don’t think I’m thinkin’... cause, uh, I’m not.”

Demo looked on at the odd spectacle, his expression twisted in a mix of a bemused grin and a concerned grimace. As he tilted his head to look Scout in the eye, he clearly noted that something was _very_ off with the boy today. “...I don’t nae what you’re going on about, but it’s not a sin to sit and think from time to time.” He shrugged, an amiable smile still on his face. “Come lad, I think you’re in need of a drink.”

Scout looked up from the ground, obvious surprise overcoming him. “I- me?” He pointed at himself in disbelief. “...Are ya actually offerin’ me a drink??”

Demo shrugged. “Well ya clearly need it.” He said plainly. “Look at the state of yourself. Somethin’ or another’s on your mind, lad. Anyone could tell.”

Scout’s lips tightened into a thin, almost invisible line, as his face burned beet red. There was no way _in hell_ Demo could be this observant, or generous with his alcohol… Unless…

“Demo,” Scout pointed at him incredulously. “...Are you sober?”

“Aye?” Demo responded plainly as he crossed his arms. “Don’t tell me ya thought I was drunk?”

As he slowly lowered his pointing index finger, Scout didn’t respond. Had he been in any other situation - he would’ve jumped on Demo’s offer immediately, taking the offer for a drink without question or thought. He’d always wondered how strong Demo’s scrumpy was - the other guys in the base barely even let him touch a beer. It was a running gag for them to treat him like a kid - and he played along with it for the most part. Despite being of legal age to drink, and despite having experienced alcohol long before recruitment, he didn’t bother to rebel against the team, and their little joke.

Although he would never admit to it, he kinda liked the “kid” treatment. In a weird way, it felt like he was a kid surrounded by his eight older brothers again - except, _slightly_ better brothers that didn’t try to beat you up at every given opportunity.

For the first time, Scout was at a loss for words. Having a drink offered to him - especially by _Demo,_ the legend that lived and breathed alcohol so strong it could kill even an Australian liver in seconds - that wasn’t one of the things he had expected from a shitty, rainy, quiet day like this.

“...Lad, sometimes it’s easier ta admit that you feel.” Demo said gently. “Alcohol helps with that. And I can see that you need it now.”

For a brief second, Scout averted his eyes. He didn’t like being worried about like this. It made him feel...bad. He didn’t really know how to explain it. He just knew that he didn’t like feeling like this.

Straightening his back and huffing his chest in an attempt to feign normalcy, he boasted a cocky, overzealous grin. “I got no idea whatcha talkin’ about Demo, but I’ll take that Scrumpy off ya hands if you want me to that badly.”

A moment of awkward silence passed between the two, before Demo smiled, shaking his head. “Come in then.”

Scout stepped cautiously, tentatively into his Demo’s room. He didn’t want to admit this - but it was his first time stepping foot in there. They weren’t especially close - Demo hung out with Pyro and maybe Heavy, but often kept to himself during ceasefire. The trio would talk about _fancy_ stuff like _Tips on Raising a Healthy Devilspawn,_ or _Ancient European Literature_ \- whatever the hell either of that meant.

In his room, the walls were adorned by tapestries, a collection of various hanging swords, and a surprisingly large bookshelf filled with old-looking books. A low, round table sat squarely in the center of the room, surrounded by cushions that he presumed was in the place of chairs. The room smelled faintly like some sort of incense - a foreign scent that the Scout couldn’t quite place the origin of. Taking the foreign sight in, Scout slowly sat down on one of the cushions by the table.

Demo took some time to pick out two bottles of what looked both like Scrumpy (it wasn’t like Scout could tell the difference anyways) and one tiny shot glass, setting them all on the table.

“Uh,” Scout gestured questioningly at the shot glass. “I thought you were treatin’ me to a drink.”

“I am.” Demo responded evenly as he poured a tiny amount of alcohol into the glass. “I’m just making sure ya don’t die.”

Scout grumbled, pretending to be disappointed. In reality, he was secretly relieved. He didn’t want to do, or say anything stupid under the influence - and he _especially_ didn’t want to get blackout drunk. Not in front of one of his teammates, at least.

Not in front of someone he thought might actually listen.

“There.” Demo said as he gingerly set the glass down in front of Scout. “Drink.”

Scout glanced at the shot glass, then looked back up at Demo. Demo sat across from him on the table, leisurely opening a second bottle of Scrumpy for his own consumption.

Catching Scout’s hesitant gaze, Demo shrugged nonchalantly. “Ya don’t have to drink if ya don’t wannae, lad. T’is just an offer, nobody’s forcin’ ya ta drink.”

Scout grimaced for a brief moment - before forcing his expression to resemble something that he thought expressed enthusiasm. “C’mon Demo, I ain’t no chicken.” He quickly grabbed the shot glass, bracing himself as he let the alcohol into his mouth.

He almost gagged as it reached his throat - the burning of the alcohol was stronger than anything he had previously experienced. But once it was down, and his reflexes to throw up the foreign liquid subsided, he glanced back up at Demo, grinning victoriously. “...That wasn’t too bad.”

“You were writhing in pain, lad.” Demo responded monotonously. “Now, ta the important part.”

Demo took a brief swig of his own bottle, before setting it aside on the table. “So, how’s your week been?”

Scout blinked, his previously pursed lips curving into a very thin smile. He wasn’t expecting that question - and somehow that unexpectedness was enough to entertain him.

“Uh, my week? My week’s been great - obviously.” He pointed to his chest. “I’m doing absolutely fan-fucking-tastic - no work to do, no chumps to kill... I’ve just been lazing around and reading comics all day. You know, the dream life, amiright?”

The warmth he felt in his throat had slowly reached across his face as he spoke, eventually covering his whole body. He felt, _good. Happy,_ even. For the first time in a few days, Scout felt like he could escape his own problems.

Words tumbled out of Scout’s mouth, as Demo sat across from him, listening quietly.

 _Huh._ Scout thought to himself, as the warm buzz consumed him. _Who'da thought._

It actually felt...nice, to be listened to.

As words slurred together and jumbled in Scout’s mouth, Demo continued to listen attentively. Every so often he would interject in Scout’s monologue, giving his own opinion or point of view on the matter. But whenever Demo wanted to say his part - he didn’t interrupt Scout, waiting for a lull in the conversation so he could say his piece.

Scout didn’t really know what he was saying anymore - he didn’t really know if his own words made sense. But what did that matter? Someone was _actually_ listening. Like, _really_ listening to him. He jumped from topics of the weather, to baseball, to some comic series he had a particular, special interest in ( _Captain Australia is so cool!_ ) - blathering non-stop about interests and hobbies that made him happy, although it often turned his other friends away.

And through all of that, Demo was somehow able to catch up. He was able to understand him, and listen.

And it felt nice. It felt amazing actually, to be heard for once.

Although he kind of blacked out towards the end - he was reminded, for the first time in a long time - what it really meant to be happy.

~oOo~

“Demo....” Medic muttered through gritted teeth, as he massaged his temples. “You should have known better zhan to give Scout the Scrumpy.”

“Aye, sorry Doc.” Demo grinned sheepishly, averting his gaze from the angry Medic. “Ta be honest...I did nae think the lad would black out this quickly.”

Slung on Demoman’s shoulder was an unconscious Scout - somehow still muttering unintelligible words in his drunken stupor. Demo had burst into the infirmary without so much as knocking, panicking that he had given Scout “just a teeny bit of Scrumpy, I swear”.

Irritated at the fact that the Demo thought to offer any Scrumpy to the boy at all (despite the countless times he had warned Demo that Scrumpy was significantly more potent than rubbing alcohol) Medic sighed sharply. He didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter. He had to treat Scout.

 _This is an actual medical emergency,_ he reasoned with himself. _I do not feel liable for the Scout’s wellbeing. And if I do, it is because he is my roommate. That’s it._

“Alright,” Medic rolled his eyes in defeat. “Follow me, I vill examine him in zhe infirmary.”

As Demo laid Scout on the infirmary bed as gently as he could, Medic got to work. Standing on the sidelines, Demo stood looking on at the unconscious boy with his arms folded anxiously, an unusual expression of concern etched on his usually jovial face.

“Vat.” Medic said flatly. “Demo, I vill handle zis. You may leave.”

“Aye...” Demo faltered. “It’s just that the Scout said some things that are a bit… concernin’ ta me.”

Medic grimaced, almost reflexively. “...And vat did he say, zat vould concern you so much?”

Demo briefly gazed at the unconscious Scout, before meeting with the Medic’s gaze. “...I’m sorry man, I can’t tell ya.” Demo shook his head apologetically. “It goes against ma’ own morals to tell ya. What happens through the bottle, stays with the bottle.”

Medic’s scowl deepened as he rolled his eyes, fighting the urge to scold the Demo.

“...Fine,” He exhaled sharply. “Now get out, I do not vant you to stand around if you cannot be of help.”

Begrudgingly, Demo stepped away from the infirmary bed, looking behind him in concern as he left the infirmary.

Irritated and now frustrated that the Demo would bring up such a useless topic, Medic not-so-gently stabbed the unconscious Scout’s arms with needles, preparing the IV to be injected. He needed to clear out the boy’s bloodstream of alcohol - the boy would likely recover a few days down the line, but not without massive headaches.

 _Serves the boy right._ Medic mulled to himself. _I thought he would know better than to accept a drink from the Demoman._

For a brief moment, his swift fingers slowed to a pause.

_Scout said some things that are a bit… concernin’ ta me._

What could cause such a concern in the Scout’s behaviour?

_I’m sorry man, I can’t tell ya._

Something even the Demo would refuse to tell me?

Catching himself in a pause, the Doctor shook his head, internally scolding himself. As he continued his treatment on the boy, he couldn’t help but linger on those words.

After staying awake beside the sleeping boy - the Medic had grown, although he hated to admit - rather comfortable, with the Scout’s presence.

Listening the boy murmur about (often) nonsensical gibberish in his sleep, had an odd calming effect on the Medic. The boy was annoying as any sane human could get in the day - but at night…

At night, the Medic had seen how vulnerable the Scout could be.

As he mindlessly went about his task, the medic let his mind wander.

There was _something_ about being with the Scout like that. About seeing the boy like that. _Something_ that made him fall asleep faster - _something,_ that made him feel safer.

Maybe it was the boy’s warmth, radiating off of the Scout’s body onto his own. Maybe it was his quiet breaths as he slept, the sight of his chest heaving gently below his shirt. Many times Medic had looked on quietly as the boy slept, resisting the urge to move, to wake him with his movements…to touch him. To place his hand on the boy’s chest, and feel his heart beat.

There was an odd curiosity behind seeing the Scout so quiet like that - to see the boy still as he slept, not speaking, not moving - but very much alive. He supposed it was akin to a morbid curiosity of sorts - the kind where you would want to investigate something because it feels so foreign, so… unnatural.

For a brief moment, he paused.

 _No, unnatural is not the right word._ The Medic shook his head, momentarily confused by his own thoughts.

Everyone on his team - everyone the Medic had worked with - he considered as a caricature. Co-workers to socialize with, patients in need - or mere test subjects. Whatever caricature he thought fit best at the moment. That is what is _truly_ unnatural, is it not?

Unknown to himself, the Medic’s frown grew a bit deeper.

The Scout… the Scout is a boy. A multi-faceted, human. A young man with a complex past - a person with secrets of his own. Someone who is annoying at times. Someone who is absolutely unbearable, loud, obnoxious… and yet someone the Medic felt an odd closeness to.

Someone…like himself.

The Medic pursed his lips as he gazed on the unconscious Scout.

There was something so strange about seeing the boy like this. Something strange about seeing the boy sleep - seeing the troubled young man at peace. He wanted to know more about the boy. He wanted to see all the faces the Scout hid behind his own facade - his past, his secrets - his life.

 _Maybe,_ The Medic’s eyes softened, as he reached out to the sleeping boy. _Maybe, just this once…_

As the Medic’s fingers lightly grazed the skin of the Scout’s cheek, he caught himself, jerking his hand back with a start. The mere touch of the boy’s skin lasted on his fingertips, evoking an emotion - a sensation in the Medic that he was too scared to address.

Ashamed, embarrassed, and scared of his own impulses, he ripped his gaze away from the Scout.

The procedure was finished. He did not need to tamper with the subject any further.


	2. A Closed Book

Scout sat on a bench by the exit of the base, idly looking out the open door.

It had been the first sunny day in a considerable while - and several of his team members had gone out to town during the day, enjoying their brief respite from the constant battles. The air was cooler than Scout was used to in the daytime of the badlands - thanks to the heavy downpour of rain that had continued relentlessly since the beginning of the ceasefire. The construction on their building wasn’t set to end any time soon - but details in their contracts binded the mercenaries to their station in Teufort. Many of the BLU team treated this as an ‘unofficial’ holiday off work - and certain people, namely Sniper, who had his own truck at hand, went off on small, daily vacations to the nearby wildlands to relax (often promising to the rest of the team that he’d return with some fresh alligator meat for everyone to share).

Most of his teammates had somewhere to go to during the day - some gathering around the small neighbouring town’s bars, taverns, and the others exploring the desert and wild (waste)lands that surrounded them. Sure, the Teufort base wasn’t exactly situated on a no-man’s land - but without any movie theatres, live music spaces, or even bookstores that actually handled and sold comic books, Scout didn’t really see the difference between the small towns he was surrounded with, and the middle-of-fucking-nowhere.

Although many of his teammates had left the base to go exploring in the nearby areas - Scout, and a few number of others chose to remain inside. And of the people who liked to stay inside - much to Scout’s aggravation, was the Medic.

Scout sighed, casting his gaze down to the white, tiled floor, and the running shoes he had put on like two hours ago. He’d been sitting on that same damn bench for several hours by now, trying to avoid his teammates as much as he could. It had been… a weird, few days for him, to say the least.

~oOo~

He didn’t know what the hell had happened, when he first awoke on the infirmary bed. From the window, he could see the first few rays of the morning sun, and hear the chirps of some wild birds.The heavy gray clouds of the previous day had parted, and it seemed like the worst of the storm had finally passed.

All he remembered from yesterday was drinking in Demo’s room for a bit, then blacking out. Whatever he drank that night - he did  _ not _ want to drink again. He could almost be certain that this hangover was even more painful than getting shot repeatedly by a mini-sentry - and that shit  _ hurt. _

Eventually Scout found the will to sit up, groggily cupping his ringing head in his hands. 

“Ugh...Medic?” He said in the loudest voice he could physically muster. “Jesus doc...what happened?”

From the small side door that Scout now fondly recognized as the door to Medic’s quarters, Medic stepped out, fully dressed in his usual crisp lab coat. “Guten morgen, Scout.”

Still unable to raise his head from the comfort of his hands, Scout groaned painfully. “What happened yesterday? Was I here the whole night?”

“Ja.” The Medic replied flatly. “The Demoman immediately brought you into the infirmary after you blacked out on some Scrumpy.”

Scout couldn’t see the Doctor’s expression - but something about the tone of his voice felt - off. Each word seemed to have an edge in them, a forced, cold neutrality to the Medic’s usually playful tone. Somehow, the warm, comforting voice that he had grown accustomed to over the past few nights - felt very unnatural.

Slowly, hesitantly, Scout looked up from where he rest his head, finally looking into the face of the good Doctor he had come to grow fond of over the last week.

“...Doc?”

Whatever emotion Medic was currently feeling - the Scout couldn’t read it. With a cold, hard gaze, the Medic looked straight towards the confused young man.

“Vith this incident I hope you have learned your lesson, Scout.” He sighed as he turned to the sink, preparing a lukewarm glass of water for his patient. “Do  _ not  _ trust a drink from a Demoman.”

When he returned to the Scout with his filled glass of water, the Scout set his gaze down - somehow afraid to look at the older man in the eyes. “...Uh, thanks, Doc.”

As Scout reached for the glass in the Medic’s hands, his fingers brushed lightly over Medic’s own.

Had his eyes not been trained on the glass of water - had he not been staring so intently at the glass to escape from the Medic’s cold gaze - he just might not have noticed it.

A small, but noticeable ripple ran through the water - a tiny, but clear jolt of movement in the glass of liquid.

He barely felt it as he his fingers overlapped the Medic’s own to take the water - but the Medic had flinched.

He flinched because the Scout touched him.

It barely took a moment for it to register. Barely a second for the Scout’s heart to drop.

Something happened while he had blacked out. Something bad. A large part of his gut was twisting, tying itself into painful knots as it yelled at the Scout that somehow, somewhere, he fucked up. He didn’t even know what he did - but this had to be his fault.

And Scout, of all people, knew that his gut was never wrong.

Unable to look the Medic in the eyes - or even muster the courage to look up at the older man’s expression - the Scout trained his gaze on the cup of water that was now in his hands.

After what felt like an agonizing hour of awkward silence between the two, the Medic spoke quietly, a strain of discomfort apparent in his cold voice.

“...Feel free to use zhe infirmary beds from tonight onwards. I vill no longer force you to sleep beside me until zhe construction of your quarters are completed.”

As the Medic turned to walk away, back into his own living space - Scout clenched his jaw, forcing every eon in his body to just shut up. Forcing himself - for what felt like the first time in a very long time - to simply keep his mouth shut.

And as the Scout heard the door to the Doctor’s quarters swing quietly shut - the young man let out a quiet breath he didn’t know he had been holding in - and blamed any feelings of pain that followed, on the ringing headache that just never seemed to end.

~oOo~

He had been avoiding his teammates since then. Not just the Medic - but all of them.

As much as possible - he would walk away from any place he could see one of his teammates approaching. To a majority of his team - he knew very well, that his silence was a rare and favorable treat. Nobody would ask him why he was quiet - after all, why would they? They had no reason to care about him. Nobody actually, really  _ listened,  _ to what he had to say, anyways.

For a few days now, he had refused to say a word to anyone.

Despite what the Scout had anticipated, most of the BLU team met the Scout’s unexpected silence with apprehension - and some, with outright and genuine concern for the boy. But of his teammates that murmured over Scout’s sudden vow of silence - one person did not partake in any conversation relating to the Scout.

Medic, standing alone in the infirmary room, flipped absentmindedly through the files of his team members.

Mulling over dull tasks such as paperwork and deadlines released his mind from any form of introspection - even though the focus on work was often short lived. It was almost that time of the year to send over the new batch of bi-yearly paperwork to the Administrator - mostly physical reports, including a short section of any physical or behavioural abnormalities that the Medic had consistently observed amongst his team members.

As he flipped through the profiles of his team members on file - he paused, almost automatically, on one familiar picture.

On a poorly printed black and white image that the Doctor had - time and time again avoided to even look at - the blank face of the Scout stared at him.

Fighting his immediate urge to set the whole document aside and forget about work yet again - the Medic closed his eyes tightly, took a deep breath - and trained his eyes on the young man’s profile.

As the Medic forced himself to focus on the document - skimming over the same damn paragraph of words that somehow refused to register in his brain - a now familiar feeling had begun settling in the back of his brain.

The quiet, and heavy sensation of disgust.

The Medic clenched his already tight jaw, once again fighting against the urge to escape his paperwork.

Thoughts, memories, physical sensations - each filtered aimlessly through the Medic’s body as he stood there, still clutching the Scout’s document in an unwavering silence.

Despite having not seen the boy since the incident in the infirmary - despite having been quiet on the matter - the Medic knew of the Scout’s sudden vow of silence.

The Medic knew exactly what the Scout had seen that morning.

He sighed, finally giving up on getting any work done as he put away the documents.

As he massaged his aching temples - the doctor mulled over what had happened across the past few days.

Surprisingly, it didn’t take long for the BLU team to notice the Scout’s silence. In fact, it only took a matter of hours. Sniper was the first to bring it up with the team - despite being solitary in nature, he had a particular fondness for the boy, who was just a few years younger than he was.

Spy (being Spy) initially made light of the situation, sarcastically joking that this unexpected silence was better than his constant yammering. But when several hours had turned to two days - even the Spy had to admit that something was wrong.

Heavy, ever the moodmaker of the team, advised against directly asking the Scout what was wrong. If something serious was happening in the boy’s life - it was best that he handle it alone. He knew the boy - and he knew how much he valued his own pride.

The Demoman…was surprisingly silent on the matter. Other than some obvious looks of discomfort, and downcast gazes - the Medic hadn’t observed him say a word of the drinking incident with the rest of the team - although he did share his sentiments of concern.

Thoughts were shared throughout the team, some of the members voting towards trying to reach out to the Scout directly - while others refused that sentiment, saying that it was  _ cruel,  _ to coddle Scout as if he couldn’t handle his own problems _.  _ In the end - no conclusions were made to help him, because despite their concern, and their genuine worry for him - nobody really  _ knew _ the boy.

In spite of the astounding volume the boy spoke - almost none of what he said on a daily basis revealed any useful information about him. Other than being cocky, insensitive, and self-assured, nobody really knew what he was actually  _ like. _ No one, until that moment in time, had even  _ thought _ of sitting down with the boy to have an  _ actual _ conversation with him.

Most of the members in BLU didn’t even  _ know _ that Scout had hobbies outside of baseball and running. When the Demoman piped up that he had heard that the Scout liked to draw - heads were turned in disbelief - Spy even going as far to accusing the Demo of  _ making things up,  _ and  _ having no evidence. _

It was a surprising fact to all of them - that despite seeming like an open book, the Scout had kept his cards remarkably close to his chest. They all knew only what the Scout wanted them to know. The fact that he grew up in the bronx, the fact that he was raised with eight older brothers. The fact that he could run - and that he liked running.

It was an odd, uncomfortable idea for them to accept - that the boy they had often trusted with their life in battle - the youngest member on the team they had all generally interacted with and liked to some degree - didn’t completely trust them.

Behind a mountain of words and useless information - the Scout was a blank slate. And now that he had gone completely silent - nobody knew how to get a word out of him.

The Medic sighed.

During the time he had spent the nights in the same room as him - the Medic felt like he had seen glimpses of trust in the boy - an actual, genuine show of emotion that the Scout didn’t bother to hide in front of the Medic. As the days passed and the two got used to each other’s presence being shared in the same room - their interactions had slowly become more genuine with each other.

It was not an uncommon sight to see the boy curled up in blankets with a mound of comics by his side - and while the Medic initially complained about the mess he was making on the bed, and joked about the ‘record-breaking lack of noise’ that came out of the Scout’s mouth as he read - he didn’t  _ dislike _ these several hours of peace and quiet. In fact - he quite enjoyed it.

As it turned out, both him and the Scout enjoyed staying within their rooms when they could - as long as neither party was making too much noise, they had made a mutual pact to tolerate each other’s presence.

The doctor, still deep in his own thoughts - let out a soft, almost inaudible chuckle.

~oOo~

He remembered the day he stumbled on one of Scout’s many comic books - a superhero with a weird purple cape taking front and center of the flimsy magazine. Scout sat, engrossed in another comic on the corner of his bed, as the Medic flipped absentmindedly through the pages of the particular comic he found.

Eventually he stumbled on several pages that illustrated the scene of what he recognized all too well as a hospital - the character on the cover wearing a sharp, white, lab coat like his own.

_ “Vat is this?”  _ The Doctor had questioned the boy at the time, bemused by the depiction of his (decidedly mundane) workplace in a comic book scene.

He remembered the boy’s face as he ripped his own gaze off the comic he was holding - his expression flipping quickly through annoyance at being interrupted, and then confusion, when he realized what the Medic was holding.

_ “That’s uh...Dr. SuperWeird. What about it?” _

_ “Vhat is it about?” _

The Scout maintained his confused expression at the time - somewhat incredulous that the  _ fancy-shmancy  _ Doctor was inquiring about any of this at all.

_ “It’s a superhero comic.”  _ He deadpanned.

_ “I can see zhat, Junge.”  _ The Medic jokingly rolled his eyes.  _ “I am asking vhat zhe story is about.” _

The Scout’s face now flipping through obvious expressions of surprise and distrust at the Doctor’s motives - he remained silent for a while.

_ “...You’re not gonna like it anyway.”  _ The Scout shrugged.  _ “You’re probably gonna think it’s stupid.” _

For a brief moment, Medic considered dropping the book entirely - this reaction of obvious distrust was unlike anything he’d ever encountered from the boy at that time. But barely a second later he pushed on - the Scout’s surprisingly negative reaction sparking his interest in the comic just as much as it discouraged him.

_ “Is zis superhero a medical professional?”  _ The Medic asked, pointing to the character in the panel.

_ “Yeah -”  _ The Scout paused, as if immediately regretting his instinct to respond.  _ “...Dr. SuperWeird is about this brain surgeon who gets magical superpowers. And he saves people. I guess.”  _ The Scout’s gaze cast down, the tinge of embarrassment in his voice betraying his  _ cool  _ act.

The Medic nodded, his eyes following the text as he flipped to the next page.  _ “Zhat sounds interesting.” _

Although he had not been paying attention to the Scout’s features at the time - the surprise in his voice was enough to tell him what the Scout was thinking.

_ “You’re...you’re actually reading it?” _

_ “Vell I picked it up - I might as well.”  _ The Medic shrugged.  _ “It seems like a fun concept.” _

Some silence passed between the two as the Medic continued with the story on the book - eventually finishing the chapter he was on. As he looked up from the book for the first time in that hour - he finally noticed that the Scout had laid his own book down - and was staring at the Medic incredulously.

_ “...Vhat?”  _ The Medic eventually asked, grinning humorously at the Scout’s odd reaction.

His face flushing red with the immediate embarrassment of getting caught staring at him read - the Scout ripped his gaze away, training his eyes on the crumpled blankets before him.

_ “I - I just didn’t think ya’d actually read it, is all.”  _ He scratched nervously at his face.

In a quiet, almost eager tone of voice that the Medic had never heard Scout use before, the boy asked hesitantly.

_ “...Well, did ya like it?” _

The Medic, now thoroughly amused by this whole situation, gave his honest opinion - a slight, cheeky smile still hanging on his features.

_ “Actually, yes.”  _ He said nonchalantly.  _ “It was a light, fun read.” _

The Scout, still refusing to meet the Doctor in the eyes, remained silent.

_ “Although I vould like more context on zhis character.”  _ The Medic said as he let his eyes float back onto the next page.  _ “Zhis is clearly not zhe first book - and it vould be nice to have some explanation on his powers.” _

There was another beat of silence before anyone said anything. Medic, now engrossed in the story, didn’t particularly mind the silence.

_ “...I got the full collection.”  _ The Scout replied, rather softly.  _ “I can lend you some, if ya want.” _

_ “Ja, ja. Zhat vould be nice.”  _ The Medic nodded, still focused on reading.

Silence befell the two once again, and by the time the Medic had finished with the volume, and finally look up at the Scout, he was already engrossed in another comic.

~oOo~

As the two bonded over several particular interests (it turned out the Scout was trying to get a better hang of his art and wanted to use some of Medic’s anatomy books for reference) it was then that he noticed the boy had slowly started warming up to him.

The Medic had observed, time and time again, that there were several things that made the Scout genuinely happy when he spoke. And he expressed them, not with the boisterous, overzealous voice that he usually boasted his  _ achievements _ to others - but in a quiet, almost shy, tone.

The amount of words that flew out of his mouth never changed - but the Medic had often caught the boy smiling as he spoke. Not the usual overly-animated, expressive grin that he seemed to permanently wear in front of the others - but often a barely noticeable, sheepish smile.

For the first time since the Medic began to know him, the Scout was slowly taking off his mask. And it was around then, when he had noticed something different -

“Uh.. Doc?”

The Medic’s gaze snapped up from where they were unfocused on the ground - immediately making contact with the source of the voice. Donning his usual scowl - the Medic kicked himself for not having even noticed anyone go through the infirmary doors.

In front of his desk stood Sniper and Demo - unusual expressions of concern etched on both of their faces.

The scowl on Medic’s face slowly faltered as he sensed what was coming - his mind filling with a terrible sense of dread.

As the the fading light of the evening sunset marked the otherwise unlit infirmary room with heavy shadows - the Demoman nodded to the Sniper, signalling for him to speak.

“We need to talk to you. It's about Scout.”


	3. Runaway

The air around him felt cool and crisp as he inhaled, his gaze set on the sandy, but otherwise solid ground before him. Above him he could see the sun as it set - the once bright, orange skies giving way to a soft blanket of darkness.

The Scout moved quickly on, his breath cutting sharply into his lungs as he ran.

He didn’t know for how long he had been running. What started off as a light, tired jog into the sandy wastelands - soon became a crazed, fast sprint, alternating between speeds as he forced himself to keep moving forward. He didn’t stop. He didn’t want to.

What started as an ache, grew into a numbing pain - and now, near the point of physical breaking - he didn’t know how to stop himself. Because, in the end, this was the only way he knew how to escape. The only way he had ever let himself cope.

As the last rays of warmth left the badlands, the Scout’s knees buckled from beneath him, and he fell, clumsily, and unceremoniously, into the sand.

For a brief second, he let himself close his eyes. The fall hurt. Breathing hurt. His whole body ached terribly, as his brain rang out in pain and nausea. Without as much as a road, or any form of civilization in sight - there was no light, no warmth in the vast desert wasteland.

As he slowly opened his eyes to a cold, and empty reality - the Scout had finally accepted that he was all alone.

~oOo~

The Medic clenched his jaw, steeling himself for the harsh intervention.

Before him, the Sniper and Demo seemed to loom over the man - their expressions tinged with worry - and doubt.

“Demo told me about what happened.” The Sniper said quietly. “He told me about the incident with the Scrumpy - and the concerns he felt as he spoke with the boy.”

The Medic returned the two men’s steady gaze on him, his clasped hands and tense expression betraying what he truly felt. “...Vhat of it?”

“The change in Scout happened right after his trip to the infirmary.” The Sniper uttered monotonously, inhaling a sharp breath. “...Something happened while he was here - and most likely, between you and him.”

The Medic closed his eyes, responding to the two with silence.

“I dunnae know the full story, Doc.” The Demo looked away from the two, casting his gaze to the ground. “But I think I know enough to put two and two together.”

“Snipes told me what happened after his room was destroyed by RED.” The Demo continued, clearly uncomfortable with being put into the spotlight. “He explained that Spy had taken charge of putting Scout under your care - and that, Spy later mentioned that the Scout was to stay in your room - in your quarters, instead of in the infirmary.”

“...Ja. Zhat is true.” The Medic returned quietly, his knuckles white as he clasped his hands together.

“Look, Medic...” The Demo continued. “Something happened between the both of ya, that we don’t know about.”

Demo paused, briefly taking the time to choose his next words. “...When the Scout was drunk - he talked a lot about ‘home’.”

~oOo~

He felt like he was freezing.

In the dark, vast space of the badlands, Scout could barely make out the shape of his own hand, as it lay idly in front of his face.

The Scout blinked, letting his gaze hazily focus off somewhere into the distance. As much as his body hurt - as much as his exposed fingers and bare arms threatened to freeze and fall off to frostbite - the Scout couldn’t make himself feel anything.

In an odd, almost tranquil apathy, he wondered if he was going to die.

He didn’t really know where he was at that point - how far away he was from the base. Would respawn kick in if he died here? Would it reconstruct his body and force him to live again?

...What if it didn’t?

They were in a middle of a ceasefire. The respawn machines weren’t turned on as far as he was aware of - he had heard cross mutterings from the Engineer, time and time again, that they were already running on limited Australium.

As the Scout closed his eyes, he wondered what it would feel like to disappear.

He wondered what would happen to him - where he would go after life. If he’d see a heaven (although he knew he was definitely headed for hell), if he’d see a dark tunnel with a light at the end - or if he would simply, cease to exist.

He wondered what his mom would think of, if he disappeared. What his brothers would feel. Maybe  _ some _ of those jackasses might even regret what they did to him - although he somehow doubted that any of them would give a damn.

His mind drifted to his teammates - his _other_ family. If he died, would they mourn his loss? Would they miss him? He imagined how quiet the base would be after he passed - none of the other guys really spoke as much as him. Idly, he wondered what would happen if they never found his body - and secretly, he actually kinda hoped that they wouldn’t.

As he forced a thin, humourless smile - he wondered if anyone had even noticed that he was gone.

He knew, that somewhere, deep down there - he wanted to be missed. He wanted to be heard, to be cared about - like the others seemed to care for each other.

He didn’t want to be the tough guy anymore. He didn’t want to be strong.

He had always felt the need to prove himself - wherever he went, wherever he called home, he never really felt like he mattered. And he knew, more than anyone, that his team was great. They were all damn amazing at their jobs - and there was no exception to that. All of them were badass, epic killing machines - although some of them were slightly crazy. But he didn’t mind that. As long as he did his part, and he did it well - he was always part of the team. A part of a pack.

He felt a hitch in his throat as tears started to well up, forming from some deep part of him he didn’t know he still had. And as the tears began to fall, he wondered when the need to belong - became the need for a place to call home.

Maybe he was just selfish. Needy. Sensitive. And he probably was, knowing himself. His whole life, he was labeled ‘The weak one’. The runt of the litter from the day he was born - he could barely even stand up for himself. And what could you do if you couldn’t fight? What choice was left for you if you couldn’t even throw a punch that would matter?

His whole life, he spent running away.

Running from his brothers, running from his problems - running away from anything that could hurt him - even his own feelings.

As the tears refused to stop falling, he chuckled weakly.

...Some people were different. Some people didn’t laugh at his weakness - didn’t judge him for the role he was given. His mom, for instance. Although tough as nails as she was - raising nine boys on her own in the depths of the bronx - she always saw something special in him. Often, she would joke about how ‘soft’ he was - that his ‘kind soul’ would surely get him into trouble within a barbaric world like this.

When he first got the invitation for this merc job - she was the most adamant about him not taking it. He argued with her over it - they were never rich, and this job could provide for them. All of them - even his deadbeat, drug-addicted brothers.

_ I’m sorry, ma.  _ Scout thought as he choked on his tears.

In reality - he just wanted to run away. He didn’t want to end up like his brothers - many in gangs or in jail to petty crimes. He didn’t want to end up like his neighbours, the people surrounding him - stuck in a sad, concrete jungle where nobody  _ actually  _ gave a shit about anyone else. He didn’t want to end up like his Mother - poor, unhappy, with failing romances as her only form of entertainment. So once he got his ticket out of there - he took his chances, and he ran.

Somewhere, down the line, running didn’t just become something he was good at - it became his entire life.

~oOo~

“Scout was a happy drunk. He talked a lot about the things he liked - the things that made him feel happy.” The Demoman explained quietly. “His words and ideas were slurred, but I could catch most of what he meant. From a long speech about comic books and baseball cards - he started talking about us.”

The Demoman paused, once again casting his gaze down. “...He only said good things about us. All of us.”

“He talked about things I did nae think he would have noticed - small things about all of us that none of us usually pay attention to.” Demo pursed his lips into a thin line. “He talked about how thoughtful Snipes was with others. How Heavy somehow always knew what to do to cheer up a scene. How Pyro - even though he didn’t usually like their food - made a ‘wack-ass’ alligator steak on a pretty regular basis.” Demo paused, a thin smile forming on his lips. “He talked about how Spy was a sarcastic bastard when it came to  _ teamwork  _ \- even though, when it came to it, he was always the one to take charge and lead the team. He talked about how good Engie was on his guitar - said that he wished he played it more often. He talked about how surprisingly observant I was, and how the Soldier was the  _ best  _ guy to talk to when ya needed help taming a wild animal.”

As the Demo met his gaze with the Medic’s, his heart sunk instinctively.

“...For a long time, he talked about you, Doc.”

In silence, the Sniper stared on at the two, his own emotions unreadable under a blank expression.

“He talked about how much he appreciated you. He talked about your blunt honesty, and sarcastic jokes - but he said that, when it came down to the serious things - you always knew what to say. He talked about how you were a good listener - and how you’re a damn good man.” Demo cleared his throat as he looked away from the Medic. “...He called you the good doc, and he said... that he would trust you with his life.”

At this, the Sniper glanced away as well, his foot anxiously tapping at the ground.

Medic, before the two - was trying, but failing, to suppress his own emotions. His jaw clenched, and his hands clearly shaking, he took his small glasses off the crook of his nose, and covered his eyes.

“...Doc,” The Sniper uttered quietly. “We don’t know what happened between the both of you - through some way or another, you’ve become the one person that boy trusts the most.”

“There’s something wrong - and we can’t fix it. As much as we’d like to help.” The Sniper sighed in defeat. “He might not know it yet - but we want to be there for him. He’s more than a team member - he’s a part of our family.”

The Medic, still covering his eyes, said nothing.

“...It’s getting late.” Sniper gestured to a dark window. “Even if Scout avoids us all - he can’t avoid the infirmary right now. There’s nowhere else warm enough to sleep. So...”

The Sniper exhaled sharply as he paused. “We’re counting on you, and whatever trust you have left with that boy.”

“Please, help him.”

~oOo~

As the last of his tears left their stained mark on his cheek - Scout found himself losing consciousness.

Tired, cold, and aching - he slowly closed his eyes as something in the distance entered his vision.

In the cold, vast wasteland, the last thing the Scout saw was a bright- almost blinding light.


	4. Of Time and Urgency

_[10:00 pm, first floor corridor, BLU base]_

Side by side, Demo and Sniper walked the empty corridor of the BLU base.

Since the two had left the infirmary, neither party had said a single word. Sniper’s expression was blank, a slight frown engraved on a stoic mask. Underneath his shades, it was hard to tell what the man was thinking.

Demo risked a concerned glance at him, swiftly looking away before he caught his attention.

Although he knew that he wasn’t (completely) to blame here - he stil felt somewhat responsible for the entire situation. Quiet, tired, and disappointed in himself, the Demoman sighed.

_...What’s the use of vision if you refuse to see?_

Since he was a mere child - the Demoman had only a single eye. By fate, magic, or chance - he had lost half of his vision. In losing his ability of depth perception, in losing half of a _basic, simple_ function that most (if not all) able-bodied humans took for granted - the Demoman had discovered, and honed, one important skill.

Because he lacked in vision - he gained perspective. To understand the world, he needed to be able to _see_ from more than one view. Through observation, abstract intelligence, and the ability to communicate and approach the living with an open _honesty_ that others often hid, he had, time and time again - uncovered truths he should have never known.

Demo glanced away from before the path before him, willing away the awkward silence.

In a world where we rely largely on our eyesight to navigate the world - people are often surprisingly blind. We judge on what we can see - a surface-level of understanding that we can use to generalize information. Often, it takes a special bond between two people to see underneath the skin - beyond prejudice, beyond hierarchy - beyond a caricature of how you expect the world to behave.

He would know - being a black, orphaned, single-eyed kid in Scotland was hard. Definitely a more _difficult_ childhood than he would have liked to admit. As much as he didn’t want to - he stood out like a sore thumb. And although he knew that some people would absolutely _relish_ any form of attention given to them - he did not. The spotlight that had been trained on him his entire life was absolutely blinding - and it haunted him, elusively dancing around him like dark shadows cast by a fire in a cave.

There is a difference, to be seen - and to be understood. He had known that. He had known that for a long time now. Yet, when faced with the loud, obnoxious personality of the Scout - he himself had refused to see.

The spotlight that the Scout seemed to shine on himself - through an exaggerated wide grin, through his obvious boasts that everyone _knew_ were lies - it never cast a shadow. The Scout was never sad, never angry - never truly _unhappy._ But the Demo knew, as every merc did - that one often needed a special desperation to willingly volunteer to die - to _kill._

 _Everyone_ could see the boy was lying. It was obvious. Yet somehow, nobody had tried to find out why. Nobody had _listened_ to the boy - despite the trust they put in him and his work. Had the Demo not been extremely bored that day - had he not seen the Scout pass him in that exact place, in that exact time - nothing would have changed.

Deep in thought, Demo shook his head.

 _No._ Although his eyes were trained on the ground before him, he kept the same pace with the Sniper - painfully aware of what he was probably thinking. _Even if I didn’t find him then - something would’ve happened, sooner or later. He’s silent now… but that’s it. The boy’s alright. At least the lad’s still-_

“Well hello, men!”

A booming, jovial voice echoed from across the hall, startling the Demo out of his own thoughts. From the large doors that led to one of several supply rooms - this one in particular leading out to the desert entrance of the BLU base - an irritated Engineer supported a drunk, red-faced Soldier as he beamed at the two looking on. One arm slung over the shorter (but sturdier) Engineer, and one arm waving animatedly around in greeting, the Soldier declared his presence, in his usual, loud way.

“We have just returned from drinking!” He announced. “We have done nothing but drink _American_ liquor all day!”

Beside him, the Engineer sighed loudly. “...Speak for yourself, boy.” Valiantly supporting the taller man, his apparent irritation was clear through his dark goggles. “I had to drive.”

For the first time in the span of a few hours, a slight smile found its way on the Demoman’s lips. Demo knew that the Soldier had been, rather _depressed_ since ceasefire began - although he had valiantly tried to hide it from his teammates. Despite his flaws (and lack of common sense), he was an honest man, and the Demo appreciated that of him. He had known about the Soldier’s fallout with the RED Demoman - so out of respect, and (what he felt was) basic human decency - he had subtly avoided being around the Soldier, lest he remind the poor man of what had transpired with his counterpart. It was good to see him back - even temporarily - to his usual self.

“Have you men seen the Scout?” The Soldier continued, looking around from underneath his oversized helmet. “I heard that he was sad! I do not know why - but I wanted to help! So I have brought him a friend!”

Out of his breast pocket the Soldier proceeded to fish out _something_ \- gingerly producing what looked to be a small, _living,_ creature. The animal - the lizard, to be specific - looked like a gecko of sorts, spots of brown markings covering a slim, yellow body. Perched proudly on top of the Soldier’s hand, the lizard with a round, large head that seemed a bit too big for its body - was a rather _cute_ little thing.

“She is a Western Banded Gecko!!” The Soldier proclaimed, now beaming. “She is quite the runner - just like Scout! I am sure they will become the best of friends!”

The Demo, now fully smiling at the absurdity of it all - opened his mouth to speak. But before a word could come out of his own mouth - the Sniper spoke, a tinge of concern apparent in his quiet, raspy voice.

“...You guys haven’t seen him?”

The Engineer frowned. “No? We left the base at around 6:00 in the evening. Soldier here noted that the boy’s running shoes were gone - so we assumed that he’d be back by now.” He paused. “...Are you sure you haven’t seen him around?”

“No.” Sniper pushed on. “I’ve been walking around the base until an hour ago - I think I would’ve seen him if he was in, by now.”

The Demoman’s brows now raised in question - whatever he had thought to say about the small gecko was quickly forgotten.

“That’s odd...” The Engineer noted. “I’m pretty sure he was already out by the time we left -” He glanced at an exposed, worn-out wrist watch he often wore underneath his work gloves. “It’s around 10:20 now.”

Stunned silence befell the four men as they looked to each other - a dawning, unsettling realization hitting everyone present.

“...You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

~oOo~

_[10:45 pm, near the BLU base desert exit]_

The night in the sandy badlands was surprisingly cold. Although there was very little wind, and no obvious signs of frost - the Demoman could feel his fingers freeze, as he clutched onto the flashlight he and the others had picked up from the supply room.

The four had marched about a one-mile radius away from the base towards the desert - where they suspected the Scout had run off to. As the lights in the distance slowly faded away, and what was left of the scarce civilization around them hid from their view, obscured in the darkness - the four had been searching, calling out for the Scout, all of their voices growing louder - and more urgent.

After the realization of the Scout’s sudden disappearance, the Sniper spurred the rest into action. Not knowing where the rest of the team was in the base - he argued against the Engineer who wanted to reach out to the others - saying that long exposure the desert night, however well-prepared you could be for it - was dangerous. And in some cases, lethal.

The Sun had set somewhere around the last hour - early into 9pm. Assuming that the Scout had left the base somewhere before 6, he would have most likely already exhausted any resources he would usually bring with him on his regular runs - his single jug of water, although rather bulky, would not support him through a _5-hour run._

In the Scout’s exposed locker, the Demo had noted that his jacket - a vividly colored windbreaker (on the back of the jacket was a white icon the shape of Australia, depicted on what looked like a round, blue shield) that the Scout often brought with him during late runs - was still on the coat hanger. These pieces of evidence - when put together by the four men - proposed a disturbing truth.

Demo gripped his flashlight tightly, scanning around the dark, empty plane that surrounded him as he hollered for the Scout.

Dangerously far from the Teufort station - far away from any light, any form of _society_ that surrounded the vast desert - the Scout was all alone. Without so much as a jacket to shield him from the cold - without water, without even a light to guide his path - the Scout had isolated himself in silence.

Leading the team on, the Sniper and the Soldier marched quickly forward - as the Demo followed the two, scanning mainly their left, and the Engineer fell behind, making sure to look behind the team to see if they had missed anything.

Although he knew fully well about their urgency to find the boy - the Demo had questioned the Sniper about one, single thing.

Sniper made a valid point about the others in the base - the two parties, each having just arrived on the scene, didn’t know where the other members of BLU could be. The base was deceptively massive - and finding everyone in the team to help search for the Scout would take time. Time they might not necessarily have.

Briefly, the Demo shook his head, in a weak attempt to rid him of his own doubts.

The thing is - both he and the Sniper _knew_ the location of one member. Having just left the man’s area of the base - it wasn’t likely that he had ventured out of it, without the two noticing his presence in the hallway. The Medic remained in his station, in the infirmary, right down the hall from the desert exit.

Demo furrowed his brow.

At the time, he agreed with the Sniper’s reasoning - when he had pulled him aside to ask about getting help from the Medic - this was what the Sniper had said.

 _“...He has another job to do.”_ The Sniper explained quietly, in a strained voice that forced neutrality. _“If the Scout happens to be in the base - if the Scout returns without our knowing - he would go to the infirmary. Kid doesn’t have a choice - right now, it’s the only place he can sleep in.”_

 _“Look,”_ The Sniper snapped at the Demo as he saw the traces of doubt that lined his expression. _“We don’t have time. I-_ we _couldn’t help him. We’ve failed to, time and time again.”_

_“...We gotta do our part, for his sake - we’ve already failed him, and we can’t just stand around waiting for this shite to fix itself.”_

For a brief second, the Demoman glanced at the back of the Sniper walking before him. He was quieter than the rest - his eyes focused forward, far into the distance. There was a quiet urgency in the man’s steps - the often relaxed man who took his long, _leisurely_ time to move around, even in the midst of the battlefield - was now leading the team of four as he marched straight into the darkness of the desert.

The Demoman knew that he probably had his own reasons to care for the boy - his own thoughts behind the whole situation. Of everyone in the team, the Sniper had always been available to make the Scout feel welcome. Despite his obvious dislike for several others on his team (namely the Spy), he seemed to resonate with the boy - or at least, try to. Although he appeared aloof, crass, and careless to the feelings and situations of others - the Demo had known through the Scout - that he had always tried to bring the team together. In his own, clumsy way, the Sniper had supported the Scout, and the team, from his own, isolated perch on the sidelines.

Demo pursed his lips, grimacing as he held in a sigh that threatened to leak through if he dared open his mouth.

As much as he didn’t want to think about it - he was starting to feel as if some of the Sniper’s actions, and his words - didn’t exactly line up.

There was an edge to his voice when the Sniper talked to the Medic - although the man hid his own emotions surprisingly well - the Demo couldn’t help but hear a trace of _hostility_ towards the good doctor.

...Maybe, it was defeat. Maybe it was projection.

Through some way or another, the trust of a boy he had been trying to gain for the longest time - a _goal_ that the Sniper had been working towards - was attained, quickly and almost _effortlessly_ by the Medic. It was just over a week, maybe two. In that _short_ period of time - the Medic had seen, what none of the others got even close to noticing.

Although the Demo had agreed with the Sniper’s reasoning as they left the base - leaving the Medic behind in the dark as they ventured to search for the boy - he couldn’t help but wince at the thought of what it all implied.

If you were _absolutely_ certain the boy had gone missing - if you _knew_ the desert night was dangerous and possibly life-threatening - you would know well enough to bring a _medical professional_ along with you, right? Although he had made the point that the Medic should stay behind in case the Scout popped up while they were gone - he idly wondered how wise it was to leave the Doctor - the _Medic_ of the team, behind.

 _...Well,_ The Demoman thought to himself as he took another step forward. _I guess we’ll just have to hope that we’re doing the right thing._

As the vast, quiet desert seemed to grow colder around them - Demo hoped that they weren’t already too late.

~oOo~

_[??:?? pm, BLU base, infirmary]_

A dimly lit lamp illuminating the darkness of the infirmary on the corner of his desk, the Medic worked quietly on his paperwork.

Emotionally drained, stressed, and just plain exhausted by everything that had transpired - he worked mindlessly on his medical reports. As a worn, black and white photograph of the Spy stared blankly at the Doctor - he heard the door squeak as it slowly swung open.

Behind the door - was the Scout. As the boy stood quietly by the door - his eyes wide and his mouth formed in a thin line of what looked like surprise - the Medic noted that he was still wearing his jacket from running outside. As he gazed on at the dull, washed-out colors of what looked like a red varsity jacket - adorned with a small, black and gold icon of a cheetah on his chest - he idly wondered why he had never seen the Scout wear that jacket before.

“...Guten Abend, Scout.” The Medic said tiredly as he adjusted the small spectacles on the crook of his nose. “I think it vas about time we had a little chat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Western Banded Gecko exists btw - and its cute as hell. Look it up and profit.
> 
> Also I got a [tumblr account](https://fanfictionalratt.tumblr.com/) now.


	5. Measures of Desperation

“Wake up, numbnuts.”

There was the familiar touch of cold metal on the left side of his head, as the BLU Scout regained consciousness. His head spinning and view hazy, he noted that he was in a _car._

A faint, reddish leather covered the seats of the unfamiliar vehicle. The car was moving - and he could see weak streetlights pass in the distance. The whole car smelt _awful,_ like heavy nicotine. He was in the back seat of the automobile, and all he could make out from the mysterious driver in the front, was the burning embers of a small, lit cigarette, and his gloved hands. As the Scout quietly tried to rise from the cold glass window pane he was leaning on, the cold bit of metal that touched his head aggressively pushed him back.

Even though the inside of the car was dark, the faint lights from the outside were enough to illuminate what he needed to see.

In the seat beside him, a young man with a face he knew - a face _eerily_ similar to his own - greeted him with a snarl. In his hand was a Mann Co. issued standard pistol - and it’s muzzle was pushed directly into the side of his head.

“It’s about fuckin’ time.” The RED Scout scoffed.

Before the Scout, his hands were bound tightly together with a number of cable ties. He didn’t think to bring any weapons with him on his run - and his belongings that he _had_ brought with him (just his jug of water and his cap), had been stripped off of him and kept in a place he couldn’t reach.

He was still exhausted. The smell of the car was nauseating, and although it was considerably warmer inside the vehicle, Scout still felt like he was on the brink of death. Unable to muster up the will or energy to fight, he looked into the eyes of the other young man and spoke quietly.

“...What do you want with me?” His throat was raspy and dry, to the point that saying words hurt. It had been some days since he last spoke, and the quiet, defeated whisper was all he could physically manage. Although he knew he could still _speak_ \- it still surprised him that he could vocalize anything properly. “If you’re gonna kill me, just get it over with already.”

RED raised an eyebrow. Under a poorly hidden expression of suspicion, he slowly tightened his grip on the trigger - and exhaled sharply as he let go. RED kept a hand on the handle as he lowered his gun into it’s holster, and turned to face the weak, apathetic Scout.

“Look, man.” He sighed as his brow furrowed deeply into his forehead.

“I.. I need your help.”

~oOo~

By the time the explanation had ended, the driver of the vehicle had parked inside what looked like a desolate, abandoned barn. After closing the doors of the outhouse (they didn’t lock very well, and looked like they would fly open with the wind - had it not been for the giant wooden door latch that kept the doors in place), the man had returned to the car - and turned on the lights.

Under dim, yellow lights in a still, parked car, the BLU Scout, RED Scout - and the RED Spy - had been negotiating a certain _agreement_.

“...That’s really all you want?” Scout questioned RED quietly, the clear distrust in his voice overshadowed only by his apathetic monotony.

“Yeah,” RED replied, his expression tense. “It’s just a one time thing. Trust me - I don’t wanna end up like that dumbass Demoman and Soldier either.”

For a moment, the Scout took his eyes away from the other man, contemplating his own (lack of) options. What he heard from the RED Scout so far was astounding. The things RED had revealed and the idea he was proposing _definitely_ went against merc protocol - but somehow, the Scout could empathize with the guy’s desperation.

If it had been revealed that his own, real _father_ was an enemy Spy - he might have even done the same thing.

“Are you really sure it’s him?” Scout pushed quietly. “All you saw was his _supposed_ pictures of her - and the Demo that leaked the info from BLU could have been drunk - you don’t know if he’s telling the truth.”

“...Yeah, I don't know.” RED grit his teeth. “That’s why I have to see it with my own eyes.”

In the front seat, the Spy looked out of his rolled-down side window as he continued smoking what was left of his remaining cigarette. As the RED Scout maintained his tense expression of distrust and displeasure at the situation - his fingers still tapping nervously on the hilt of his gun on his hip, Scout felt eerily calm. He had been explained by RED that they were out of range of the respawn pickup area - if he didn’t comply, or showed any signs that he would talk - he would be killed, and his body dumped in the desert. Honestly, he was _surprised_ he wasn’t already dead.

For some reason or another - the RED Scout had the impression that he was trustworthy. He’d only known him for the duration of the car drive - and having literally just been killing each other a few short weeks ago - Scout was astounded he would trust him at all. Underneath the intense, aggressive facade of RED - the guy was rather sincere. Or maybe he was just desperate.

As Scout looked into his mirror image with empty eyes, he pursed his already tight lips, contemplating the consequences of his actions. This was a deal that would _definitely_ get him fired, or worse - if the administrator found out. What did that matter in the end though? He was already supposed to be _dead,_ anyway.

“Let me get this straight, one last time.” Scout said, the sound of his voice still barely a raspy whisper. “You want to trade places with me until sunrise...to check the identity of the BLU Spy.”

“Yeah,” RED replied quietly, a forced edge in his tone. “That’s all I want - I promise. I ain’t gonna kill anyone. I’m not here to cause trouble. I just need to know the truth.”

“...And how are ya gonna do that?” Scout questioned monotonously. “It’s not like he’s just gonna tell you - I ain’t even close to that French bastard, he won’t exactly jus’ _talk_ about his history if ya ask nicely.”

“I’m not gonna _ask_ him, dumbass.” RED scoffed. “...Everyone on the base has medical charts - I assume it’s the same for BLU. That shit’s got details on past and current medical history an’ stuff. You know, for _inspection_ purposes.” He fidgeted nervously with his fingers. “It’s got names, pictures... and a family record.”

Scout remained silent, nodding ever so slightly at RED for him to continue.

“I saw mine. It’s got the standard stuff. My real name, physical condition - and some family members I’ve decided to forward a portion of my salary to. Ya know, for emergency contact purposes an’ shit - in case I die before I get home.” RED cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “Point is - I _know_ my ma’s still in contact with him. We’ve been getting monthly benefits from the fucker for years - it’s how we’ve been getting by. I know the bitch still gets money outta him.” He looked away. “...If the BLU Spy really is my dad _-_ my ma’s name is gonna be on his list of contacts.”

Scout looked straight on at the nervous RED. It seemed like a solid plan - just nick some files in the middle of the night, and return them when he was done. RED was clearly uncomfortable about the whole ordeal himself - it seemed like he didn’t want to get fired over something as stupid as this - much like Scout himself. And although he was clearly itching to whip out his gun and just get Scout’s life over with - he was reliably fighting off the urge to kill him, so far.

From the short interaction he had with his _enemy,_ the Scout had silently decided that he wanted to trust him. The guy was clearly desperate - there was a poorly concealed glint in his eyes that begged him to understand what he was going through - the same frenzied look he had seen in many people before him. His family, his brothers - and the mercs of the BLU team. In himself. Maybe he was too empathetic - or maybe he was just projecting. If he were in his shoes, wouldn’t he want to know the truth, too?

Tired, weak, and broken - he decided to give in to his own impulses. What did it matter? What would it cost? His job? His trust among the other mercs? 

Sighing quietly, the Scout shook his head....It’s not like he knew that they even _trusted_ him, anyway.

Glancing up at the nervous RED, Scout finally spoke.

“...Fine,” He uttered weakly, but in a steady tone. “I trust you. Just don’t make a scene.”

~oOo~

When the Scout woke up from a groggy slumber, he found himself still in the car.

He was lying on his side with his legs uncomfortably tucked under the seat - he’d fallen asleep soon after RED had donned his faded varsity jacket and left - leaving the other side of the velvet back seat open for him to lie on. The lights within the vehicle were still on, very dimly lighting the interior of the car. The empty barn that surrounded them was almost completely dark - save the flickering electrical light illuminating the seats, and the small embers coming off the smoldering cigarette that the Spy was holding. Scout, idly looking up at the man in the front seat as he remained still in the uncomfortable seat space, wondered if he had been smoking the entire time he was unconscious. Having been able to rest even briefly, his head felt a bit clearer.

Pushing himself up weakly to a sitting position, he noted the almost _agonizing_ ache in his throat. He hadn’t drank anything in hours. Clearly dehydrated, he suffered from an uncomfortable, buzzing headache. His throat felt like the desert wastelands surrounding the two - dry, sandy, in a state only known as _constant suffering_.

Quietly, the Scout cleared his throat. Nothing seemed to help him at this point - he wasn’t hydrated enough to produce even a sliver of saliva in his mouth. Not like drinking any of that would help him with his thirst, anyway. Sighing, he wondered if he was gonna die of dehydration before he was even able to get back to base.

In front of him, Spy was shuffling around with something in his pocket. Although Scout couldn’t clearly see what he was doing, he automatically assumed he was taking out a lighter to consume yet another cigarette. They had not interacted since he had found himself in the car - and he had quite quickly pieced together that the Spy wanted _nothing_ to do with the private business between the Scouts.

That’s why it surprised him, when the Spy produced a metal flask from his breast pocket, and looked behind to the Scout - presenting it for him to drink.

“Take what you need.” The Spy said evenly. “...I wouldn’t want you to die in my car.”

The Scout paused, his expression hardening slightly. There was always this _thing_ about Spies - including the one on his team - that made him automatically distrusting of them. Maybe it was their sarcastic, condescending tone, or their unwillingness to be open about anything, ever. Maybe it was even the fact that they _stabbed people in the back_ for a living. Who knew.

When the Scout’s cautious silence had extended to several seconds - that was when the Spy coughed. “Just take zhe water.” The Spy urged him quietly.

“You do not need to trust me,” He said as his voice dropped into a slightly softer, maybe even gentler tone. “This is a reward for your compliance. Scout would want you _alive,_ when he returns.”

Scout, his jaw clenched in subconscious discomfort, begrudgingly gave in. He was thirsty, and he needed water. The Spy was right - he didn’t need to trust him. He wasn’t _trying_ to save his life - he was just making sure his captive wasn’t dead before the deal was over.

Slowly, he reached out for the metal flask with his bound hands, and began to drink. The feeling of water going down his throat was painful - but it was a good sort of pain, in a way. Somehow, it reminded him that he was still alive.

When he had drank down what was left of the water in the flask - he inhaled a breath of air, and slowly returned the flask to the outstretched hand of the RED Spy.

“..Sorry,” Scout said quietly, almost sheepish. “I finished it.”

Waving a hand with the cigarette in the air, the Spy dismissed him monotonously. “That is fine. I would not have expected anything less of you, _juvénile._ ”

Catching Scout’s hard glare in the reflection of his mirror, the Spy smirked slightly.

“It is a joke.” He said softly as inhaled from the cigarette. “...You were unconscious in the middle of the desert. Most likely, you need the water more than I do.”

The Scout raised his brow. This Spy was...admittedly, more _pleasant_ than the one he was used to. By a long shot, actually.

It wasn’t long before the two returned to a state of uncomfortable silence. The Spy had took out another cigarette, and was already consuming it as he reclined idly in the front seat, occasionally flicking some loose embers into the floor of the desolate barn that the car was parked in. As the Scout sat back in his space in the back seat - he began to wonder why the RED Spy was involved with the risky business of the RED Scout at all.

This was obviously a pretty personal matter to the RED Scout - not to mention very impulsive and precarious to anyone _willing_ to be involved. And considering the Spy had mentioned it was _his_ car - there was no doubt that he had chosen to be here.

But _why?_ What did the Spy have to do with any of this?

Before the Scout could contemplate the matter any further, the Spy spoke up once more.

“...Do not worry.” The Spy coughed quietly. “If your Medic is anything like ours - the boy will be back in no time. No harm will be done.”

Tilting his head ever so slightly, Scout replied questioningly. “What’s that gotta mean?”

Spy glanced up to his rear view mirror, meeting the Scout’s gaze in the reflection. “I’m assuming he’s very… reckless. With the _private_ documents.”

He inhaled from the cigarette once more. “Untidy, unruly, and loud - these hired _Medics_ seem to be more interested in the progress of science - rather than the well-being of their patients, do they not?” He chuckled to himself. “I would not _dare_ trust that Doctor with my life - much less my personal information. Like with everything they _fix_ , they seem to expose and dissect first.”

The Scout’s expression was now visibly hardened. The Spy had taken to talking to himself - and he had not looked towards Scout’s face to catch up on what he was thinking.

“...What if the documents weren’t just lyin’ around?” Scout asked quietly. “...What if they were behind locked, unlabeled cabinets and desk drawers? How were you two expectin’ to find it?”

At this the Spy finally looked back at the Scout, the corner of his mouth slightly raised as if toying with the idea that a _Medic_ could be responsible with any form of secretive information.

“But of course,” He motioned slightly with his hand. “In that case the only method would be direct confrontation.” He looked away from the mirror, setting his gaze on the cigarette in his hand. “The Medic - _assuming_ he is in office when he doesn’t need to work - is still in range of respawn.” He exhaled coolly. “When intelligence is hard to obtain - there is only one way to find it that comes naturally to _us_. We are hired mercenaries, after all.”

As the Scout’s hard gaze turned into a glare, and his features darkened - the Spy flicked his fingers, throwing away what was left of his still-burning cigarette butt - into the dusty floor of the barn.

As the smoldering cigarette burnt away atop of many other crushed, blackened trash and finely disintegrated dust - the Spy finally turned his gaze to the rear view mirror.

“Torture, interrogate, and kill.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of updates, stress and involuntary hospitalization happened.


	6. Duality I

“Guten Abend, Scout. I think it vas about time we had a little chat.”

As the Medic folded his hands above the desk, purposefully obscuring any identifying information on the document he was working on, the Scout continued to stare from the doorway - as if surprised the Medic was there at all.

Internally, the Doctor sighed. He didn’t exactly want any of this to come to a close like _this,_ either. He knew the talk would be awkward, personal - _intimate._ Too much of everything for his own liking, much less the Scout’s comfort. As the words he had rehearsed in his head came blankly out of his mouth, he braced himself for the Scout’s reaction.

“...You have not spoken in days. Not a word to _any_ of us - and I must apologize, for I know that zhis vas caused by me.” The Medic cleared his throat in discomfort. “I am... sorry, for how I reacted - how I must have seemed that morning.”

Before him, the Scout was still by the open door, his hand lingering on the doorframe. His brow was furrowed - in disbelief? Or was it anger? The Medic assumed he was tired - because for some reason, he couldn’t read what the Scout was thinking. Either way, the Scout remained silent.

“Please, do enter zhe room.” Medic removed his round spectacles as he fidgeted with it’s frame nervously. He’d made sure his hands were gloved beforehand - although working on paperwork with gloved hands were admittedly uncomfortable and clumsy - he didn’t want to react in the case he had to _touch_ the Scout again. That was why he was still up working, after all. “I do believe zhat zhis matter is important - and personal. To both of us.”

This time the Scout’s brow shot up, his expression contorting into what seemed to display confusion. Medic paused - somehow he had expected a different reaction. After uncomfortably clearing his throat for a second time, he asked again, quietly. “Bitte, Scout.”

Hesitantly, the Scout closed the door behind him. As it swung shut, he slowly approached the desk, and stopped about a few feet before it - an impersonal distance. As the Scout folded his arms, clearly as uncomfortable with the situation as the Medic was - the Medic sighed. This was _definitely_ the hard part.

“I- I must confess, I do enjoy your presence.” The Medic said as he closed his eyes tightly, setting his gaze down to the spectacles in his hands as he opened them. “Do not take zhis the wrong way, Herr Scout - but ever since we started sharing a bed during ceasefire, I- I have started developing a certain _fondness_ for you.”

The Scout remained silent. As the Medic continued fidgeting with the frames of his glasses, the picture of the Spy peaked from beneath his gloved hands - his blank eyes staring at him judgmentally.

“Inappropriate as it is - inappropriate as this _all_ is - I have developed certain _thoughts_ towards you.” The Medic sighed deeply, his nervous hands almost bending his glass frames underneath the pressure. He could feel his face growing red, and his heartbeat rising to what felt like a level of physical illness. As he reflected on all the thoughts and feelings he had been harboring towards the Scout since the beginning of the ceasefire, a certain sensation had been blooming inside the Medic.

A want - a yearning _need_ for intimacy.

He wanted to say the truth, right there and then. He wanted to see the Scout smile. To see him wear that sheepish grin, shake his head, and accept the Medic - and his feelings alike. He remembered their first night - Scout’s fears, and his vulnerability he had been showing every night since then. The trust in the Scout’s voice when he talked to the Medic about his hobbies - and his joy. The simple things that the Scout did, like his toothless, slight smile as he read something he thought was neat, or the slight grunt of appreciation the Scout let out when the Medic told him a joke the Scout actually thought was funny.

As the mysterious, unnamed sensation built up inside the Medic - he thought about his fears. His fear of touching him. The fear that - if he ever even _dared_ touch the Scout, he would wake him up - and the Scout would realize what the Medic’s intentions were, and leave, to be distant with him once again. It was a fear that claimed that this was all just one happy dream. Just one brief _moment_ that he would snap out of - that he would _forget_ \- if either of them ever dared to wake up.

His fear that, in the end, he would find himself alone again.

It was creepy, that _he,_ and older _man_ felt this about what was supposed to be his colleague. It was almost _disgusting._

As Medic fought tears welling up beneath his eyelids, he finally glanced up towards the Scout, and pulled back, almost wincing.

Closer than the boy had been since he last noticed his movement - the Scout was now right in front of his desk. As the Medic looked up nervously into the Scout’s face - he barely noticed that the Scout’s right hand was touching the document on his desk - inches close to his own gloved hands. The Scout’s expression was fixed, in a hard, unreadable gaze.

As the Medic subconsciously traced the boy’s eyes down to the poorly printed, black and white picture on the page - he finally noticed something was _wrong_.

“Junge...” The Medic looked up at the boy, his voice barely a whisper now.

“...Who are you?”

~oOo~

Awake, and now more aware than ever, Scout could feel his blood boil.

He didn’t know exactly what this feeling was - it was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. He felt like his heart was burning - and his head was filled with a dark, red fog. Before him, the Spy’s smirk had slowly turned into a thin-lipped frown, as he noticed the boy’s sudden change in demeanor.

“...What is the matter?” The Spy reached out for another cigarette. “Are you _suddenly_ regretting your decision to cooperate?”

The Scout returned with silence, his darkened features alluding to his fury.

“Unfortunate.” The Spy replied, talking to himself once again. Lighting the new cigarette with his small, tin lighter, he took in a deep breath of smoke, and sighed. “You do understand what happens next, yes?”

The already furrowed brow on Scout’s face twitched in anger. There was a limit. A limit he could take. This was crossing it. He didn’t know why - he didn’t _want_ to know why - but the thought of RED torturing and _killing_ the unarmed Medic _in his own base_ made him want to harm something. The thought of the Medic getting _hurt_ by a face exactly like his own - the thought of the medic getting hurt by anybody at all - it made him want to _kill._

And the Scout, at that moment, looked like he was ready to kill. His shoulders tensed, hands shaking ever so slightly - he fought off the need to explode and strangle the Spy. He needed to get out of there. He needed to get out of the car _right now._

He needed a way out.

Seething through his clenched teeth, he managed to say a few words. In a low, almost threatening tone he had never heard come out of his body, he spoke.

“...I won’t allow that.” The spy raised a questioning eyebrow, as the Scout continued. “I _can’t_ allow you to kill me, not right now.”

The Spy sighed, rolling his eyes. “Do not be so dramatic. It’s just death. You’ve experienced this many times before.” He snickered.

“I - ” The Scout almost choked. “...I can’t let that _bastard_ harm him. Not him.”

The Spy’s expression stiffened, for a brief moment. As quickly as he showed any emotion, it was gone. “And what are you going to do about it?” He teased, casually reaching into his suit. “Your hands are tied, you have no weapons - and unlike you, I have a pistol.” He pulled out the firearm, showing it off in the reflective glass as it glinted under the dim light of the car. “There is nothing you can do.”

The Scout sucked air in through tightly clenched teeth, his mind running a mile a minute. He needed a way out, fast. He needed to stop RED before it was too late. What was the best way to do it? What could he _use_ against the Spy?

Almost immediately - his mind went to the car. His _willingness_ to assist the RED Scout, and his _own choice_ in getting involved with _any of this,_ despite the risk. Almost automatically, he opened his mouth.

“At least I’m not being _lovey-dovey_ with some _kid_ half my fuckin’ age.”

There was a pause. The Spy’s eyes widened briefly before his expression contorted to that of an ugly, threatening sneer. Time lost its meaning after that.

There was a bang, then the sound of glass windows shattering. Smoke rose from the barrel of the gun as it steadied, the exit of the bullet pointed - just a few shaky movements away from the Scout’s head.

In the car seat behind him, the Scout glared at the Spy silently. He hadn’t flinched as the bullet soared from the gun - right into the rear window behind him. His muscles still clenched and his heart now roaring with adrenaline, he could barely feel the painful deafness that settled gradually in his head, as the bullet - very nearly - missed its mark. He was still alive. For now.

“Look,” The Scout said monotonously. “I don’t give a _fuck_ about how ya feel, okay?” He continued very quickly as the Spy slowly readied for another round. “I ain’t gonna talk _shit,_ it ain’t none’a my business.” At this the Spy paused what he was doing with his weapon, his stunned expression betraying the slightly shaking hand on his gun. The spy remained silent.

“You’ve been _smoking_ ever since I came into the car. Maybe even longer. I dunno.” The Scout continued unwaveringly. “I know a _tick_ when I see one, dude. You’re fucking _nervous._ And if you’re not, something’s fucking _destroying you from the inside._ There’s just some shit we can’t fuckin’ hide.” The Scout shrugged. “I can see that - it don’t fuckin’ mean that I’m gonna tell, or that I _fucking_ care.”

At this point the gun had been lowered considerably. As the Spy remained stunned at the boy’s surprising observational skills - the Scout continued to speak. “You care about the kid. A lot. I know. If ya didn’t you wouldn'ta agreed to _any_ of this bullshit.” He dared a look into the Spy’s now fully widened eyes. “It’s fuckin melodramatic - the Scout doesn’t _need_ to know his dad. I know I sure don’t.”

“...But this shit’s important to him.” The Scout looked away briefly, as he cleared his throat. “It’s _important_ to him, and that’s why you agreed to help the kid, right?” He looked back at the Spy, and before giving time for him to reply, he pushed quickly on. “You trust him. Somehow. You trust him, and that’s important to you. That _Scout’s_ important to you - and that’s why you’d do anything to appease him.”

The Spy’s gun was fully lowered now. As Scout gulped hard and closed his eyes tightly, tears now threatening to build up from behind his eyelids, he continued quietly. “...I know how that feels.” He whispered.

“I know how it feels… to have somebody important to you.”

As hard as he squeezed his eyes shut, there seemed to be no stopping his tears from falling. As he choked on his own feelings, he continued to blather on, unable to even open his eyes to see what the Spy was doing, or what he was thinking. Right now, his mind was on one person - and on one person alone.

“...Medic’s important to me.” He managed to say. “I can’t trust _nobody._ I don’t _know_ how to trust people - even my own team - my own _family._ ” He choked again. “There ain’t _nobody_ I know how to trust, nobody I can say the _truth_ to.” Tears fell relentlessly from his shut eyes. “But somehow...somehow, Medic’s different. I dunno why. He’s just fucking _different._ ”

“...I haven’t _ever_ felt like this before, man. Like, I ain’t ever felt _safe,_ with someone, ya know? And I know some people wanna help me or some shit. I know there are people who try.” Scout sniffed. “Snipes does. My ma does. Demo, Soldy, even the Hardhat fuckin’ tries for me when I’m down. I know that.” Scout opened his eyes painfully. “...These guys, my _team_ \- they’re better to me than my fuckin’ _brothers_ ever were. They’re my _family._ They all are.” Slowly, he looked up to the Spy. “But Medic - The doc’s different. He’s different to me.”

Before him, the Spy wore a confusing expression. His face twisted in what looked like sadness and sympathy - or was it pity? - he held his gun facing the ground, still facing back towards the Scout. Noticing the teary Scout’s gaze now trained on his own, the Spy almost winced.

“...I see.” He coughed gently, removing the cigarette between his lips and throwing it out of the window. “I understand.”

The corners of his mouth rising to what resembled a thin, weak smile - the Spy gently put away his gun, onto the passenger seat beside him. “...I suppose it must have seemed that way, did it not?”

Tears still falling out of his eyes, the Scout managed to cock his head weakly to the side. “Whaddaya mean?” He asked weakly.

“That I _love_ the Scout. In a romantic sense.” He shook his head, the slight smile on his face still hanging on his sharp features. “I do not. But I do consider him as my son.” he looked towards the Scout. “My _real_ son...I never knew”.

The Spy sighed. “The life of a double agent is... _difficult._ In some cases you must wear the life of another man’s shoes - the life of a fictional man you’ve never known, and who has never existed. The duration varies. Sometimes it is only months - other times, it is _years._ ” His eyes showed a glint of genuine sadness. “...And what do you do, if you fall in love with the life of a man you’ve never known? A man that has never even existed?”

His thin smile, still there, but void of any humor or meaning, trembled uncomfortably in order to hide the frown behind it. “I was deployed for years. I fell in love - we had a child.” He took in a deep breath, and sighed. “I shouldn’t have - I was in enemy territory, among the frontlines of the enemy military. Although, looking back, that was the only way I could have ever completed my mission - I still feel like I lost some of myself in the process.” He sighed again, a bit more silently this time. “She was very much- she acted very much like the Scout.” He inhaled, and almost choked on his words. “An amazing soldier, an amazing _woman_ \- she was brilliant.”

“But my orders were to go after her relatives - her own _family._ And when we had the child, I had approached close enough to complete my mission.” He paused. The Scout, his own tears now dried, nodded slightly, urging the Spy to continue. “...I did what I needed to do, and I left.”

The Scout, his lips pursed tightly, asked. “...Do you regret it?”

The Spy looked back up, his forced smile softening, ever so slightly. “I do believe, you already know the answer to that question.”

As silence befell the two, the desert winds roared around the abandoned shack surrounding them, and the car felt just a bit colder.

There was nothing left to say.


	7. Duality II

“Who are you.”

The Medic quietly repeated his words - a slight snarl now defining his features. His brow furrowed, he put his glasses back on his face - as he kicked himself internally for allowing his emotions to take over him.

Looming before him, the boy that _seemed_ like Scout stood silently, his gaze still set on the documents on the table. As the Medic rose quietly from his seat - still careful to obscure the details of the document from the lookalike’s view - he heard a silent, almost inaudible _click._

“You don’t wanna move, old man.”

There was a gun. And its muzzle was directed at the Medic’s head. The Doctor, with an expressionless, deadpanned gaze trained towards the boy, did not do so much as flinch when he realized what was going on. “Vhat do you want with these documents?”

“...None’a your business, thats for sure.” The RED Scout snarled in reply.

“Zhey do not have any valuable information.” Medic pushed calmly. “None relating to any of your missions - nor of any value to a stranger. Just physical reports, and personal details. It is not valuable,” The Medic reiterated, the gears turning quickly in his mind. “Zhat is… unless you want to know - or you already _know_ your target.” 

At this, the Scout looked up, a dark glare meeting the Medic’s gaze. “I said, it’s none of your fuckin’ business.” He replied with a threatening low voice, his dark expression betraying the depth of his anger.

“Oh but it is.” Medic responded coolly. “You have made it my business - since zhe moment you tried to _infiltrate_ my office.” He returned RED’s hard stare with his own cold gaze. “If you kill me here - I will still have these documents in my hands. And you _do_ realize zhat we respawn with anything we’ve last touched in our team belongings - that means the documents will fade from this location - and you vill have to find zhem with me, in the respawn area. By zhe time you arrive I will have my weapons ready - as well as a line to report to the Administrator.”

The Scout’s expression twitched, as his snarl intensified. He cocked his gun - then lowered the muzzle. Still holding the weapon close to himself, he lifted his free hand from the documents on the table and sighed as he lifted it, surrendering to the Medic.

“I got it, ya win.” He said quietly as he turned his gaze away. “I don’t wanna lose this fuckin’ job either… I just need to check somethin’ and I’ll be gone.”

At those words, Medic let out a sigh he had been keeping in. Finally standing to his full height from the semi-bent position he had been keeping himself in, he kept his right hand on the documents, as his left hung limply to his side. “Now, tell me vhat exactly it is you vant, coming all zhe vay here.”

For a few seconds, RED was silent. His gaze now cast down, he responded quietly, in defeat. “The BLU Spy… might be my Dad.”

Medic cocked an eyebrow. “Vhat? And how did you come to zhat?”

RED shrugged, ever so slightly. “Demo. He had pics of the bastard with my Ma.” He sniffed. “Look man, I just need to check if this is true. I jus’ need to know if he actually… if he actually, is my Dad.” Noticing the older man’s now softer, sympathetic gaze, RED winced. “I just want to _know_ my own Pa, okay? It’s - it’s for my sanity’s sake.” He finished morosely.

The Medic shook his head, a loud sigh escaping his lips.

“...Fine.” He responded quietly.

At this, the RED Scout met the Medic’s gaze once more - his expression mixed with confusion and a certain glint in his eyes - betraying his facade of adamant distrust. “Wha-” Scout mouthed, the words barely coming out of his throat. “Really?”

“Ja.” Medic nodded slightly.

Deliberately raising his right hand from the document, the Medic exposed his open palms - and walked back slowly. As he approached the table behind him - of which was lined on the surface with multiple surgical tools - he lowered his exposed hands, and folded them behind his back. As the RED Scout laid his hand once again on the documents, the Medic ordered him to do one more thing.

“Lay your gun on zhe desk.” He instructed. “I must know that you will not be a threat.”

RED paused hesitantly. Brow furrowed - he nodded slowly, then laid his gun on the desk.

There was some silence between the two as the Scout read the health profile of the Spy. A swirl of emotions crossed his face, his brow arching up from where it was once furrowed. He had found his confirmation.

The Medic, his hands still behind his back, watched from the sidelines. Behind him was a table for surgical tools he kept in the case of an emergency - and the tools laid exposed. He knew by heart which tool was kept where - and when he reached for one of them, he had no doubt in his mind that when he closed his palm, he had gripped the scalpel.

Meanwhile, RED seemed to be in a state of shock. His wildest assumption now confirmed - he stood there, still gripping the document before him. “I...” He faltered. “I...I’ve been killin’ my _Dad._ ”

The Medic pursed his lips, his expression unreadable. “...Vhat did you expect?” He said coldly. “Nothing vould have changed with your confirmation. You are a hired mercenary. Your job is to _kill_ all who stand in the way of your objective - it does not _matter_ vhether that is a friend of foe.” He paused. “Sometimes, knowing only makes things more… _difficult_.” He coughed.

As RED looked up to the Medic, the Doctor thought that he could see the beginnings of tears welling up in his eyes. He sighed - a breath not drawn out of sympathy, or empathy, but a tired and cold apathy he knew all too well. As the Medic walked deliberately towards the boy, RED did not move from where he stood.

When he stabbed him in the neck, and RED’s last gurgles of life turned to the quiet, hazy silence of death - Medic turned away from the boy’s inanimate, fading body, and picked up the now blood-stained document.

“...I vill have to re-write this report.” He said quietly, to nobody but himself.

~oOo~

 _“Hey!”_ The Soldier seemed to yelp out of nowhere, suddenly struggling with his coat.

The Engineer looked towards the man, mildly alarmed at the sudden noise. “What is it? Did you find something?”

“I bet it’s that stupid lizard again.” Sniper snarled tiredly.

The four-man rescue team of the Engineer, Demoman, Sniper and Soldier had been walking in silence for some time now - all of them tired, but still searching for the Scout. It felt like at least an hour had passed at that point - and they were slowly, but surely losing their will - and hope - at finding him. Their voices, now hoarse from the panicked yelling they had done to search for the Scout, had mostly died down, with only the occasional hollering sounds coming from the Soldier. They were in the middle of the desert, in the middle of nowhere, and it was getting very, very cold.

“Hey!” The Soldier yelped again, suddenly flinching as he almost bumped into the Sniper beside him.

“Bloody hell, mate!” The Sniper hissed as he instinctively dodged out the way of the heavier man. “What’s wrong with you?”

As the Soldier patted down his chest, he looked to the team with his mouth agape. “She...Sergeant Yellow just ran off!” He shouted mournfully. “We _must_ find her, men!”

As he began to run towards some small, but quick-moving thing in the distance, the rest of the team looked to each other in tired agreement, and began to slowly jog after the man.

“For christ’s sake,” The Sniper growled tiredly. “If we don;t find Scout soon I swear I’m leaving the bloody wanka’ and his stupid lizard in the de-”

With an unceremonious thump, and the sound akin to a tree falling on soft soil, the Sniper tripped. In the distance, Soldier was yelling for the lizard - still chasing after the small runner.

As the other two slowly approached the Sniper, they focused their light on what had made him trip, and slowly realized what they were seeing.

“I am _back,_ boys! Sergeant Yellow has just found a tasty morsel!” Said the Soldier, now beaming as he walked back with the small creature in his hands. It was not for much longer that he held his gleaming smile - as his upturned smile loosened, and his jaw slowly dropped.

They had found the Scout.

~oOo~

He was unconscious for a few days before he finally woke up.

When he did open his eyes - the Sniper and Engineer that had been talking by the side of his bed, dropped their conversation as a third member in the room - Soldier, it seemed, from the volume of his voice alone - ran to tell the others. The next few hours were a bit of a blur.

There was a lot of talking involved. Although he’d managed to squeeze a few words out - it was surprising how much the rest of the team had to say to him. There was a lot of scolding. Some yelling about how _irresponsible_ he was being - by almost dying, worrying the rest to _death_ (apparently) and carrying his problems on his own shoulders without telling the team. There was some drunk sobbing from the Demoman (Scout wondered how bad in a condition he must’ve been for Demo to break his sober streak), and some more sarcasm from the Spy, with the Heavy silently threatening to shut him up. All in all, he was… flattered, by how much they cared.

Flattered probably wasn’t the right word, seeing as there were tears in his eyes as he spoke to each and every one of them earnestly - but he didn’t really know how else to explain it. He was overwhelmed with a sense of a weird kind of joy - a sense of what felt like belonging - as he dealt with all their _loud_ complaints and fusses, one by one. Somehow, it felt like he was back home.

When the mob had mostly left, and only the Scout and one other remained, he realized that he had yet to speak to the last man in the room. As the Medic cleared his throat, and approached him from the foot of his bed, the Scout felt his heart skip a beat.

“Hello, Scout.” The man he knew and trusted smiled warmly - an expression that made him melt, just a bit. “Welcome home.”

~oOo~

It was some weeks after the ceasefire.

Things had largely gone back to normal, and the two bedroom refugees had been once again supplied with their own dormitory room. War was in full swing, and the Scout had never felt more alive than he did now.

As the daily battles had ceased, and the team returned to each of their own quarters for a brief break before dinner duties, Scout hung around the infirmary with the Medic - it had become a new normal for him in the last few days.

They were conversing over the battle done, and laughing over what each of them had seen during work. As the Scout worked up the courage to ask the Doctor something, the Medic gave him a light pat on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Scout.” He said as he beamed at the young man. “You have been on a roll with watching my back and saving me, have you not, Junge?”

At this, the Scout scratched his face, and looked shyly away. “...Well, I’m just returnin’ the favor, doc.” With a slight, sheepish grin, he looked to the Medic, and smiled. “You saved me too. Ya know, in the ceasefire and stuff.”

The Medic cocked his head to the side, a slightly confused, but nevertheless bemused grin adorning his features. “I do not recall.” He replied warmly.

“Well, ya did.” The Scout huffed. “Don’t be too critical of yourself doc - you may not know that shit went down - but it did.” Scout grinned playfully. “And through it all, you were there for me.” He shrugged. “Sure we had our mistakes - I didn’t know you were cranky ‘cause you lacked sleep from work an’ shit - I should’a been more thoughtful when I slept beside you.”

Medic sighed, his slight smile still on his face as he shook his head. “Zhat vas my fault - I should have communicated more clearly.” He paused. “I did not mind you sleeping beside me, you know.”

Scout’s face lit up. Without warning to himself - much less the Medic, he blurted out his question. “Then would ya mind if I crashed with you again?”

There was a surprised pause between the two. As the Scout realized what he had said - his face turned beet red, and he couldn’t help himself but to talk his way out of the awkwardness.

“Uh - just so ya’ know it ain’t like - uh, in a gay sense or anythin’. You don’t like that shit and I _definitely_ am not fuckin’ gay, but I just like sleepin’ with you ya know? It’s like, warm and kinda comfy somehow? Like you - I mean your _room_ smells nice and it's clean and it kinda makes me feel like I’m home, if ya get it. It’s just uh-” The Scout yammered on, words tumbling out of his mouth faster than his mind could catch up.

“Ja.” The Medic nodded. “I do not mind.” He smiled warmly. “In fact, I think I vill enjoy zhat as vell.”

As the Scout dropped any words that he had been preparing to say, he looked up at the Medic incredulously. And as the big, genuine feeling of happiness seemed to force its way onto his face - his actions moved faster than any part of his brain could process.

“Doc, I think I love you.”

~oOo~

As the Demoman settled in for his evening drink, he thought on the topic of duality.

There are many aspects to people that you would never expect - the duality of man, as they would say. Despite what we would like to think, people are often not single-faceted, with multiple facades facing outwards to all the aspects of our life.

It often takes a special kind of bond between people to see through the mask - and in a world of RED and BLU, that kind of trust was a hard thing to achieve.

Alcohol helps in bypassing trust. It’s pretty easy to expose your whole being when you’re blackout drunk. Your happiness, your sadness - your fears. The day that Scout had come to his room - he had unwittingly heard _everything._ And although he didn’t understand why himself - he didn’t blame the kid for having special feelings towards the older man. he might even invite the boy to another drink in his room - if the Medic would let him. Demoman chuckled.

 _Although, I don’t think I would like to keep hearing about Medic’s ‘apparently’ chiseled abs._ He thought, as he smiled humorously to himself.

It was about time he got another drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that ends the second installment of 3. Next one's got a huge fuckin horny jail warning, (still gonna be rated T tho cause I can't write smut to save my life) so beware.
> 
> Also I'm sleep deprived so I'm reviewing everything i wrote tomorrow lmao


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